NEVE SHALOM / WAHAT AL SALAM, Israel - Amid olive branches and eucalyptus leaves, 40 Palestinian and Jewish families are conducting a hilltop experiment that sounds more radical today than it did when it began three decades ago: They are trying to live together.

In Hebrew, the name of their village is Neve Shalom. In Arabic, it is Wahat al Salam. Both mean Oasis of Peace.

But as Israel reels from its most violent weeks in a generation, this community, halfway between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, has found it is no oasis, unconnected to the turmoil surrounding it. And peace, at least peace of mind, is tested by each day's news.

"There is no doubt what is happening in the occupied territories is reflected in this village," said Adnan Mana, a pharmacist, sitting in his living room on a recent Friday as the sun set and roosters crowed from a nearby Bedouin camp.

The Saturday before, when 42 Palestinians died in Israeli advances into refugee camps, Israeli Arab leaders called for a national strike.

"It was our expectation that the Jews would share this strike to show solidarity," said Mana, a father of three.

Instead, he said, several Jewish parents were angry that the school was closed the next day.

"We told them, 'We Palestinians feel the normal thing to do is strike.' The Jews said, 'We understand, but you can't force us to join the strike.' They used the word force."

Israeli Independence Day, marked on different days by Arabs and Jews, has caused tensions as well. In Arabic, the 1948 founding of the country is known as al Naqba, meaning the "catastrophe of their displacement."

Last May 15, when sirens wailed to commemorate the occasion in Palestinian cities of the West Bank and Gaza Strip, most of the village's Jews stayed indoors. At the school, Jewish and Arab students were separated. Earlier, when Jews had marked independence on April 26, most Arabs stayed home.

"I think what's happened since the . . . intifadah [which began in September 2000] has been to bring to the surface contradictions most of us have been living with peacefully for many years," said Bob Mark, 44, a Pennsylvania-born teacher at the village school.

The Arabic-speaking families - they describe themselves as Palestinian Arabs of Israeli citizenship - have grown more vocal in their demands that the school curriculum feature more Arab language, history and culture. While the Palestinian teachers speak Hebrew fluently, the Jewish teachers have not mastered Arabic.

"Nowadays, these requests are stronger," said Howard Shippin, a resident since 1984 who handles public relations for the village.

Although one in every six Israelis is an Arab, the country remains more ethnic quilt than stew: The two populations tend to live in different cities and villages, or, at the very least, neighborhoods. The national appetite is for less interaction, not more. A new survey by the Jaffee Center for Strategic Studies showed that 74 percent of 1,264 Jews questioned supported the idea of separating Israelis and Arabs. Thirty-one percent supported forcing Israeli Arabs out of the country.

"Prior to the peace process, we were in the avant-garde, looked upon as very naive," Shippin said. "During the peace process, we came closer to the center. And now, we are seen as pretty radical. Like the rest of the left, we find ourselves misunderstood and out of the picture. Integration has become a dirty word. What we are doing doesn't look good to Jews or to Arabs."

The village works to bridge the divide, bringing in teenagers and adults for peace programs and operating a school for more than 300 children, preschool through sixth grade, most of them from outside the community. It was the nation's first bilingual school.

Raida Aiashe-Khatib first learned of the place as a teenager in the 1980s when she traveled from her town near Galilee for a diversity program. It is where she first met Jews.

"We spilled out our prejudices and stereotypes. Up until that time, I always used to say I hate the Jews. I hated Hebrew. I refused to deal with it."

Now she teaches English at the school. Her husband teaches music. They raise their two boys, ages 7 and 4, in a home on a corner lot with Arab-style arched windows. She wishes there were more children for her sons to play with; she had higher expectations for the village. But these are issues that can exist in any neighborhood, she said, and the fact that her grievances are so commonplace pleases her.

Aiashe-Khatib also values the fact that she can speak her mind with her neighbors about her feelings of helplessness and anger during the last weeks and months - not that she takes much comfort from it.

"I see people dying every day. I don't like the Israeli policy. I am getting angrier and angrier. I am not sure what I am supposed to do."

Mana said he handled the trauma of the times by working for change on a small scale, one conversation at a time.

"Ask most Jews if they know any Palestinians, the majority say no," he said. "I tell them: 'I am a man exactly like you. I want family like you. I want free like you. I want country like you.'

"Especially on TV, Arabs are only terrorists. They kill the innocent. If I can talk to 200 Israelis, I am doing a good job. This is why I am here."

---

Contact Daniel Rubin at drubin@krwashington.com.